


Nights and Weekends

by thegreatpumpkin



Series: A Heart Can't Be Helped [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Phone Sex, Twincest, psychic twins, really just a PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-09 23:17:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3267986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatpumpkin/pseuds/thegreatpumpkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elrohir’s voice came down the line slightly tinny, a not-quite-accurate electronic reconstruction of the real thing. Usually Elladan was content to let him ramble on, happy enough for the sound of his brother’s voice; but with the iffy reception, it was like listening to someone else read Elrohir’s lines. As long as it had been since they’d seen one another, it felt like being dehydrated and drinking salt water.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nights and Weekends

**Author's Note:**

> I owe a great debt of inspiration to [LiveOakWithMoss](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/), who probably didn't want this to be her legacy but here we are.
> 
> Among other things, LiveOak is the queen of Tolkienverse Modern AUs. And while I didn't set out to emulate it specifically, I'm sure her work [Baby, when you call](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2550086) was a major influence here.

Elrohir’s voice came down the line slightly tinny, a not-quite-accurate electronic reconstruction of the real thing. “We’ve been butting heads since the beginning, though,” he was saying. “By the time I have to defend this monster, she’ll already have argued me through every single semicolon, so I guess I should be grateful.”

Usually Elladan was content to let him ramble on about his dissertation, however boring he might find it; he was happy enough for the sound of his brother’s voice, and the list of topics that could get taciturn Elrohir to talk more than he listened was not long. But with the iffy reception, it was like listening to someone else read Elrohir’s lines. As long as it had been since they’d seen each other, it felt like being dehydrated and drinking salt water. “I wish you’d get a landline,” he said, interrupting mid-sentence.

“Should I buy a typewriter too, while I’m at it?” Elrohir seemed to understand him, though, and his tone softened. “I don’t want a landline. It would make this place feel too permanent.”

“It’s been three years.”

“Right.” Even through the distortion, he could hear Elrohir’s smile. “So why should I change things now? Anyway, I’ll go in the other room, signal’s better there sometimes.” A shuffling, the muffled thump of shoes being kicked off, a sigh that was probably Elrohir flopping down on the bed, then— “How’s this? Better?”

“Yeah.” Well, yes and no. Something like homesickness rolled over him as Elrohir’s voice came through clearer, though he wasn’t the one far from home. At this distance, emotions didn’t transfer between them, but they were still good at reading one another’s voices. He expected Elrohir to launch back into the previous topic, if only to soothe him, but it seemed he had said his piece.

Or maybe he needed to hear Elladan’s voice, too. “How’s work? Wasn’t there a grant you were waiting to hear back on?”

“Lasgalen, yeah. We didn’t get it. It was a long shot, anyway, they usually don’t fund anything outside of their immediate area. We’ve been invited to reapply next quarter, so we get to do it all over again just in case they decide we’re more deserving then.” Elladan flipped through the mail distractedly, just to have something to do with his hands. “God, I wish you were still grantwriting for us. Sure you don’t want to do some freelancing?”

“Not unless you want me out here even longer. I can only manage one intensively persuasive and meticulously defended piece of dreck at a time.” He could tell Elrohir was tired even through the sarcasm—maybe more so than ever now that he was getting close to finished. Sometimes seeing the light at the end of the tunnel made the last few feet seem even darker. “Besides, I thought you hired somebody? Didn’t Dad recommend a guy?”

“I did. Erestor, remember him? He worked for Dad at LH House. And he’s good, especially on details. He’s just…” _not you,_ Elladan didn’t say. “Not big on collaboration. I don’t even get to see the drafts until they’re almost done. And then I’ve got to go through and warm them up a little, because you won’t believe it, but I’ve actually found the one person on earth whose writing style is _too dry_ for grant applications.” He paused, but then before Elrohir responded— “I don’t...I don’t really want to talk about work, Ro.”

Elrohir humored him, like he always did. “What _do_ you want to talk about?”

 _When you’re coming home._ That was unfair, so he tried for levity instead. “What are you wearing?”

Elrohir laughed, a sudden warm sound, and something in him eased. “Really? Of all the—”

“No, come on, I’m serious!” Elladan insisted, completely failing to sound it. “Wait, maybe I should say it in my sexy voice—”

“Oh my god, please don’t. The voice you _think_ is your sexy voice and your actual sexy voice are polar opposites.”

“But you acknowledge I do have one.” Elladan dropped his tone soft and breathy, fighting a grin. “Is this it?”

“ _No_. Christ, that’s even worse than your usual. Please spare me, I don’t think you can do it on purpose anyway. The only time I ever hear it is—” Elrohir paused briefly, as if he were reconsidering this line of conversation, but it was too late, “—when you’re telling some sweet young thing exactly what you’re going to do to him.”

Elladan digested that information for a moment, trying to recall what exactly that sounded like (which was, no doubt, why Elrohir wished he hadn’t said it). Close to his normal tone, he thought; but in his lower register, and rougher, with a slight hard edge. Despite the admonition, he tried again, suppressing his amusement. “You mean like...this? _Now_ tell me what you’re wearing.”

There was silence on the line. At first he thought the call had dropped, so much for better signal. But then Elrohir drew a long breath and said, “Are you— Do you really want to—?” and he realized that actually _had_ been the voice. Apparently.

Elrohir collected himself before he could answer, and went on, “If we’re really going to have this conversation, I’m not wasting my minutes on _clothing_.”

“Seriously, wasting your _minutes_? Now who’s stuck in the past? I know for a fact you have unlimited—”

“Elladan. Focus _._ ” Elrohir’s tone brought him up short— _oh. Is_ _**that** _ _what it sounds like?_ And if so, no wonder he’d lost his composure. Elladan was sure the room was warmer than it had been a moment ago. “If you’re serious…”

“I wasn’t, but I am now,” Elladan murmured.

“Good. Fine. What I’m saying is, I don’t want to talk about what I’m wearing. Or what you’re wearing, for that matter, unless it’s nothing.”

“What _do_ you want to talk about?” He couldn’t help himself, echoing Elrohir’s earlier question a little too eagerly—he wanted to see where, exactly, this was going. They didn’t usually talk like this, not out loud. Even when they were close enough for silent communication, dirty talk was carefully reserved for when they shared a lover. There was always someone between them.

Well, now there were hundreds of miles between them. _And maybe,_ Elladan thought with a guilty thrill, _nothing else._

Elrohir seemed to be of the same mind. “I want to talk about you, perched on the edge of the mattress. And about me, kneeling between your thighs.”

Sometimes people made the mistake of thinking that because Elrohir was less talkative, he was shy, or unadventurous, or (ha!) unassertive. Even in the bedroom, where his mouth ran more freely, there had been plenty of perfectly intelligent young men that had made the mistake of seeing themselves—or, even more amusingly, _Elladan_ —as the one in charge. “Yeah? What are you going to do while you’re there?”

“Oh, I learned a new trick,” Elrohir said smugly. “You'll love it. There's this way you can curl your tongue where—”

Unfortunately for both of them, Elladan could never, ever leave well enough alone. “Wait. Learned from who?” Which was also unfair, but they hadn’t seen each other in five goddamn months and he wasn’t feeling anything close to fair.

“Really? Jealousy, right _now_?” Elrohir's voice dropped out of ‘sexy’ and into ‘disbelief.’ “The internet, relax. I’ll send you the article later. Though if you want something to get worked up over, I’ve been complimented on it more than once.” Elladan growled, and he laughed softly. “Forget it. God, we’re terrible at this. Just—okay. Remember that time after Dad’s show in the valley, when we took home one of Lindir’s groupies?”

Elladan did, though he wasn’t sure where Elrohir was going with it. “That was a good night. I liked him, he was...responsive.”

“Best blowjob I’ve ever given.” Elrohir’s voice got husky again, less sharp this time. “ _That’s_ what I want to do to you. Just...taking my time and tasting you.”

“Oh. Yes,” breathed Elladan, getting back into the spirit of things. They really _were_ going to do this, then. After a moment, he unbuttoned his jeans and slid a hand inside, grasping himself loosely.

“I want,” said Elrohir pointedly, “to explore every _inch_ of your cock with my tongue. I want to push your knees apart and wrap my lips around you and learn you the way I—” he faltered, just a little, “—the way I should already know you.”

Elladan tightened his fist, began stroking himself as his brother painted the picture; but even as his breath quickened, he thought: _This must be why we don’t talk this way. It’s a fucking minefield._ “You do know me. You know I’ll have my hands in your hair. You know I love that. Pulling a little, because _you_ love that. And you know you’re going to have to hold my hips still, because I can’t help myself when it gets really good—”

“And it will, I promise. Better with me than with anyone.” It was Elrohir’s turn to sound possessive. They really were terrible at this—too much reality and not enough fantasy. “But maybe I won’t stop you. Maybe I’ll just relax my throat and let you fuck my mouth, holding me by the hair, thrusting when you want to…”

It was like a brushfire, the sudden heat roaring across his skin. Elladan made a soft unintentional sound in the back of his throat. To keep himself from falling too far too fast, he said, dryly, “You talk a lot for someone with his mouth full.”

But Elrohir had momentum now, and he rolled the taunt into their game. “If you wanted someone who was quiet in bed, you’d look elsewhere. I always make a lot of noise when my mouth’s full. You know that.” (He did.) “Harder to do with your cock down my throat, but believe me, you’ll know I’m enjoying it.”

“ _Fuck_.” He could picture it, all too easily. Elrohir’s choked but eager noises, fingers flexing on his thighs; nails digging in any time he tried to hold back or go gently. He closed his eyes and his head dropped back against the chair, his hand moving furiously.

Elrohir must have heard it in his breathing, because his voice came through sharp and sudden. “Don’t you _dare_ , Elladan. I am nowhere _near_ finished with you. I swear to god, if you come before I even—”

He took a shuddering breath, stilling his hand, forcing himself to calm down a little. “I’m not. I’m not.”

“Liar. All right, making allowances for your sad lack of stamina—” and ignoring Elladan’s indignant protest— “I _will_ hold your hips, and pull off when you’re getting too eager. And then I’m going to push you back onto the bed, and straddle your thighs...”

“You think you’re going to be on top, do you?”

“You think I’m not?”

“No. After you got me that worked up? No.” Elladan took another long breath. “I’d pin you down after all that.”

“You’ll have to fight me for it.” Elrohir sounded entirely too keen on the prospect. “Like we used to.”

He knew what Elrohir meant—no punches pulled, so to speak. In their (not entirely misspent) youth, their wrestling matches had only ever ended when someone got seriously hurt, or when things had veered in the wrong direction and they’d had to throw themselves apart, embarrassed and frustrated and yearning. Well, Elladan knew which way it would go this time. “I can definitely take you, Ro. Your obsessive love affair with academia hasn’t done you any favors.”

“I can still put up one hell of a resistance.” He almost purred the words, and Elladan shivered. “But I take your point. Eventually, you’ll manage to pin me down. And then what are you going to do with me?”

“Kiss you breathless, for a start.”

Elrohir laughed. “I’m already breathless, Elladan.” It was true, he was panting, as if he’d just been wrestled down in truth.

“Kiss you till you _shut up,_ then,” Elladan growled. “Not that you’ll stay quiet long, once I start on your neck.” Elrohir groaned, as if to prove the point. “And after that…”

“Your next words had better be ‘I’m going to fuck you,’” Elrohir hissed, taking charge again.

“Now who’s in a hurry?”

“We both are,” said Elrohir firmly, and he couldn’t deny it.

“I can stand to take my time if it involves torturing you. Now, as I was saying—before I was so _rudely_ interrupted—after that, I’m going to take my time and open you up _very slowly_ , one finger at a time—”

“Hang on,” Elrohir said suddenly, and put the phone down. Elladan wanted to curse him, but then there was the sound of a drawer on its hinges—the nightstand, no doubt. Silence for several seconds, then, distorted in a different way from earlier: “Sorry. Do continue.”

“Did you put me on speakerphone?” Elladan demanded, but then he realized it was probably because _both_ of Elrohir’s hands were otherwise occupied. Lube from the drawer, and then— _oh god_. “Wait, are you—?”

“Yes.” He could hear his brother’s sharp-edged grin, or maybe it was just that he knew it would be there. He knew exactly what it would look like, the grin and everything else.

“ _Fuck_ , Ro, are you trying to kill me?” Without waiting for a response, he went on, “I am going to _take my damn time_ opening you up, even though you’re making it incredibly difficult.”

“Which I will continue to do until you give in and—”

“ _Fine_ ,” Elladan hissed, though he was not really the least bit sorry to yield to Elrohir’s demand. “Fine. You want it? I’m going to damn well give it to you.” His blood was pounding in his ears, though not so loudly he couldn’t hear Elrohir’s low moan—the sound of it tingled all the way down his spine, electric. He started to stroke himself in earnest again, trying to recapture the voice that had affected his brother so strongly. “Put your leg over my shoulder, Ro.”

“No—” Elrohir said breathlessly, and he almost growled with frustration until— “waist, not shoulder. I want you close.” _Too much reality again_ , thought Elladan, and could not bring himself to care.

“Yes,” he murmured instead. “Put your legs around my waist, and I’m going to bury myself in you so deep—” he broke off a moment, panting, before he could go on. “I’m going to gather you up in my arms and hold you close, and press all the way into you, and _make you wait.”_

“I can’t. I _can’t_ , Elladan, please…” There was something desperate in Elrohir’s tone that had nothing to do with impatience, and he could no more resist it than he could cross the distance between them.

“Shh, Rohir. I’ve got you.” For a moment, he could almost feel their connection, the faint reassuring presence of Elrohir at the edge of his consciousness—he reached for it, though it might only have been wishful thinking. “No more teasing. I’ll give it to you the way you like it, slow and deep. I’ll kiss you that way too, until you melt underneath me.”

“God, yes. Can you—I need you to—”

“Touch you? Yes.” He wasn’t quite as incoherent as Elrohir, but Elladan was close, getting closer by the second. “I’ll touch you the way you touch yourself—the way you’re doing now—” Elrohir made a sound that was nearly anguished. “You’ll feel so good, shuddering underneath me, gasping my name…”

“ _Elladan,_ ” Elrohir breathed, obediently, and he realized that he wasn’t imagining it—their connection _was_ there, despite the strain of distance. He wasn’t even sure he’d _heard_ his name so much as he’d felt Elrohir’s lips form the word; he could feel Elrohir there, tightly strung, trembling on the edge. Suddenly all he wanted in the world was to push him over.

“Just for that comment about my _stamina_ earlier,” Elladan said, his conversational tone somewhat undermined by the unsteadiness of his voice, “I’m going to make sure that you come first. Every time you gasp, every time you shiver, I’m going to thrust that way again—flick my wrist that way again—do whatever I can to get you off.” As he spoke, he tried to share what he was feeling, the sharp desperate need, the tight pleasure of his own hand moving over his cock, even the dangerous possessiveness that had taken up residence in his chest. “I am going to fuck you until you can’t stand it, Elrohir, until you have to come because you can’t hold back—”

It was like a lightning strike between them. Elrohir gasped _Brother!_ as he came, the most inappropriate possible time for it—but then again he knew things about Elladan he wouldn’t even have admitted to himself, and one of them was this: _he enjoyed the guilt._ If there had been any doubt about it, there wasn’t now; the mere word was enough to send Elladan over, gritting his teeth as he spent himself across his stomach. Fuck, and it was good, so much better than it should have been…

When he caught his breath, he started to say something, but Elrohir’s quiet voice cut him off. “Don’t. Don’t ruin it, Elladan. It’s just talk. Nothing we have to apologize for.”

“I wasn’t going to.” Elladan’s nerves were still buzzing, his chest suffused with warmth. He wished he could share the emotion he was feeling just now, because he didn’t know how else to communicate it, but the connection had already faded. He was doubting again whether it had really been there—of course he would imagine such a thing, longing as he was for Elrohir to be back home. “But it’s not. Just talk, I mean. Not for me.”

Elrohir drew a long breath. “No,” he said at last, “Not for us.”

“I’m not even sorry,” Elladan went on, his voice low. “It’s just—I don’t think I can stand—”

Elrohir didn’t make him finish the sentence. “Come for the weekend.” It was less an invitation than a plea. “I know you can’t take any time off right now. I know it’s a long drive.” Eight hours in good traffic, and leaving straight from work on a Friday night wouldn’t be anything like good traffic—not that it mattered. “But I’ll tell you everything you never wanted to know about the sociopolitical history of charities. I’ll tell you everything my advisor’s ever said to me. I’ll retell you all the bedtime stories Dad told us when we were kids, I’ll talk until I’m hoarse, just please—”

“If you promise,” Elladan said, as if he weren’t already crossing the miles in his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't currently plan to write any more in this AU, but then again, I do have all kinds of headcanons. So, you know, never say never.


End file.
